


In The Shallows

by ChaoticMimzy



Category: A Star is Born (2018), Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - A Star is Born (2018) Fusion, Character Death, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticMimzy/pseuds/ChaoticMimzy
Summary: Sal Fisher was a normal guy: he worked at a five star restaurant, sang at a drag bar, and lived life day to day. That is, until a chance encounter with rock star Larry Johnson happens one night after one of Sal's performances. Sal was read to give up on his dream to make it big as a singer until Larry coaxes him into the spotlight. But even as Sal's career takes off, the personal side of their relationship is breaking down, as Larry fights an ongoing battle with his own internal demons.





	1. Part I: Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my second Sally Face fanfiction. This one will be short when it comes to the number of chapters. This will also deal with major issues such as alcoholism, drug addiction and abuse, depression, and anxiety. This will not end on a happy note (if you've seen A Star Is Born, you know what I mean). The movie was beautiful, and Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper's performances slayed me, so I'm going to do my best to capture that raw emotion in this fanfiction.   
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this!  
> I'll try to update once a week, but this is a side fic, and it is an emotional roller coaster, so please bear with me as I work on this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal Fisher was a normal guy: he worked at a five star restaurant, sang at a drag bar, and lived life day to day. That is, until a chance encounter with rock star Larry Johnson happens one night after one of Sal's performances. Sal was read to give up on his dream to make it big as a singer until Larry coaxes him into the spotlight. But even as Sal's career takes off, the personal side of their relationship is breaking down, as Larry fights an ongoing battle with his own internal demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to my second Sally Face fanfiction. This one will be short when it comes to the number of chapters. This will also deal with major issues such as alcoholism, drug addiction and abuse, depression, and anxiety. This will not end on a happy note (if you've seen A Star Is Born, you know what I mean). The movie was beautiful, and Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper's performances slayed me, so I'm going to do my best to capture that raw emotion in this fanfiction.   
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this!  
> I'll try to update once a week, but this is a side fic, and it is an emotional roller coaster, so please bear with me as I work on this.
> 
> EDIT 3/7/19: I've added in a few extra scenes and fixed some grammar issues.

_“Are you happy in this modern world?”_  
September 20th, 2016

* * *

Pills spilled out from the bottle into an open, sweaty palm. He tilted his head back as he dumped them into his mouth, chasing them with a gulp from a gin and tonic. 

The crowd was screaming, thriving, _alive_. The arena practically shook with the force of their cheers. _Encore, encore, encore_ , they cried. More, they wanted more, needed more, craved more like an addict craved another hit. The man stood still, his back to the crowd, a smile plastered on his face as he and the drummer exchanged knowing looks. Adrenaline surged through the entire band, electric, intense. The guitar started first, a slow, low thrum.

They wanted an encore? They’d get a damn encore.

The drums kicked in next, and then the chanting began. His name. Over and over. His head tipped back, long, dark brown locks damp with sweat. His shirt, long discarded, revealing a toned, tanned torso covered with ink. Some had meaning behind them. Others were spur of the moment decisions.

His fingers flew across the chords of his guitar.

He raised the mic to his lips and began to sing, giving the fans the encore they craved.

* * *

“Listen, you’re a wonderful guy, and an amazing lawyer, but I don’t… I can’t be with you,” his words were muffled by the prosthetic as he shifted in the bathroom stall. The voice on the other end of the line was watery. “Do I wanna marry- are you insane?! No. We’re done.” He spoke with finality, hanging up and stuffing his phone into the pocket of his uniform pants.

He stepped out of the stall, drew in a breath, and yelled at the top of his lungs. “ _FUCKING MEN_.”

* * *

“Did he cry?” Todd asked as he walked beside Sal, a smile curling his lips as Sal let out a snort.

“Trash, Sal.” Charley called from his office, causing the blue haired chef to pause in his steps, brows furrowing.

“You know he preforms tonight, Charley!” Todd called out, frowning as Sal turned on his heel and headed to the back.

“I don’t care, it’s his turn to take out the damn trash.” Charley replied, a brow raised as he poked his head out of his office, staring the two down.

“Whatever.” Sal muttered, shaking his head as he pulled his messenger bag up and over his head, careful not to shove his mask askew. “Get off my dick!” He called over his shoulder, snickering at the squawk of indignation he received. “I’ll see you there, Todd. Don’t wait on me,” Todd pouted, but Sal left no room for argument as he left the ginger to take out the trash to the dumpster behind the restaurant. He quickly snagged a pair of periwinkle latex gloves, tugging them on and over his hands; fingers calloused from hours spent playing a guitar, from years spent clutching knives and accidentally cutting his fingers when he was first learning how to cook. 

The garbage was a pain in the ass, but he lugged the two large bags out, setting one on the ground before chucking the heavier of the two into the dumpster. He wasted no time in tossing the second one in before peeling off his gloves and throwing those away as well. A sigh escaped him as he pulled his hair up into a pony tail before pulling his phone free from his pocket, checking the time.

Ten thirty.

He had an hour to get to the bar, get changed, and get his ass on stage to sing.  
Groaning softly, he trekked up the alleyway and began to sing, a simple warm-up for the night.

“ _In your head, in your head, they are fighting, with their tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their drones. In your head, in your head, they are crying…_ ”

* * *

Stumbling, the lights too bright, the voices too loud. Head hurting. Hands shaking. Ears ringing.

Someone opened the car door for him, and he stumbled in, all but falling over himself as he lay sprawled out awkwardly in the backseat. His hand reached down, searching for the bottle he knew would be there. The feeling of cool glass hitting his fingers had him singing a soft victory tune as he pushed himself up, uncorking the bottle of Jack before taking a long pull, feeling the familiar burn slide down his throat.

“Good show tonight, Larry.” The driver spoke- his name was Chug. He had green hair. And a wife. And a kid… Or had the kid not been born yet? He wasn’t sure.  
He thinks he replied, or gave a semblance of a reply; his mouth moved, but he wasn’t sure hat words came out. But Chug laughed, or maybe he didn’t, before he pulled away from the curb. Larry dragged a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted. A little nap wouldn’t hurt, right? Right. His head lolled forward, the bottle of Jack still clutched in his hand like a bible, and he blacked out.

Not for long, though, because the feeling of the car slowing had him opening his eyes and looking around, staring at the neon signs. A rainbow sign. LGBT. He couldn’t make out what it said; the words blurred and shifted and moved across the billboard.

“Where we goin’, boss?” Chug asked, glancing up into the rearview, taking in the sloppy state that Larry was in. But this was nothing new. Just another night for the rock star.

“Turn here.” Larry managed to get out, hooded gaze focused on somewhere ahead of them.

“Here?”

“Yeah.”

“A’ight, Boss, whatever you say.” Chug shook his head, but turned down the road, and pulled into the first bar they came across. This was routine for them. 

For Larry.

Start drinking during the day- lighter drinks, with little alcohol in them. Then pick up halfway through the show. Then be drunk by the time the show was over, and stumble into the car before ordering Chug to drive to the nearest bar where he could get shitfaced.

Normal. Not normal.

“I’ll be back,” Larry mumbled, pushing open the car door and rising slowly, somehow elegantly, as he rose to his feet. The line wasn’t long outside of the bar, but it was filled with interestingly dressed folk. He paid no mind to that. His attention was on the door, when he was suddenly stopped, a pale hand clinging to his forearm.

… When had he put on a shirt? Or a jacket?

“Hang on, are you Larry Johnson, _the_ Larry Johnson?” The man asked, dark brown eyes wide in surprise. 

Larry grunted before managing a half smile. “The one and only.” That seemed to please the other, but also shock him.

“Are you… Sure? You wanna go in here? I dunno if it’s your scene-” he began, but Larry cut him off quickly.

“I don’t care what kind of scene it is, kid. I’m goin’ in.” And that was that.

“Oh, well, alright. Man, you came at the perfect time. My friend’s about to perform- you gotta hear him. His voice is amazing. C’mon. Man! Larry Johnson is _here_.” He was rambling, leading Larry in, the crowd parting for them easily.

Settled at the bar with a new drink in front of him, it gave him time to actually _look_ to see where he was. And what a shock he got when he realized that no, this wasn’t a normal bar. This was a drag show. Men and women alike, some dressed in drag, some not. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself for his decision. This was a first. But the air inside was warm, welcoming, open. It was small, with a few tables here and there, a piano on stage, an amp pushed to the side with a guitar settled in a stand. The lights dimmed, and a hush fell across the crowd.

Waiting. Anticipating. 

“Here he is, watch!” The redhead suddenly spoke, and Larry turned in his seat, prepared to watch a mediocre performance.

When a man stepped on stage, not dressed in drag, but in a black button down shirt that clung to his shape, in red leather pants such a rich shade of burgundy that it almost looked like blood, with pink and blue hair tied up in space buns on the top of his head. But that wasn’t what struck Larry the most.

No, it was the mask. Expressionless, with a quarter of the upper right side painted a lilac shade. 

“How can he sing through that?” He asked, only to receive a harsh _hush_ from someone beside him.

The singer- male? Female? He couldn’t tell- settled down at the piano bench, their fingers flexing over the ivory and onyx keys for a moment. Maybe they had a mic set up beneath their mask? That seemed difficult, but who was Larry to judge. 

All thoughts left his mind the moment their voice began, a rough tone that reminded him of old rock singers, of smoky rooms and whiskey, of hooded gazes and wandering hands. Soft, in an unexpected way- a voice that could scream along to metal and croon along to ballads. And to make it even better?

He was singing in _French_.

“ _Des yeux qui font baisser les miens; un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche. Voilà le portrait sans retouches, de l'homme auquel j'appartiens…_ ” His voice trailed off, wavering softly, the piano notes stilling.

It was as if every member in the audience as holding their breath, waiting for the next line. 

They could hear him take a breath, before the piano notes began again. His voice breaking free in a soft croon, spilling out his soul, his love, his passion. Larry couldn’t speak French, but he understood the meaning of the song: love, being loved and to be loved and to love.

“ _Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas._ ” He swung his legs around the bench, sliding to his feet elegantly, and it was then that Larry realized that he wasn’t wearing dress shoes, but heels. Louboutins, by the red soles. And he moved expertly in them, slowly making his way down the stairs as he sang.

“ _Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour, des mots de tous les jours- et ça me fait quelque chose._ ” On the main floor, it was then that Larry realized he knew this song. Or, well, sort of. He knew the melody, but he still had no idea what the words meant, only how it felt. He couldn’t take his off of him as he moved across the floor, through the crowd. “ _Il est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheur dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie._ ”

The way he moved was serpent like, with an elegance that Larry could have never possessed. He tried to tear his gaze away, tried to look around him to see if anyone else was stuck in the same sort of rapture that he was- but he couldn’t. 

He stood in the center of the room, commanding the space and the attention. He turned in a slow circle as the band began to kick up, his voice rising dramatically with them, causing chills to break out across Larry’s arms. “ _Et dès que je l'aperçois- alors je sens en moi mon cœur qui bat_!”

Cheers broke out as he wove his way through the crowd, people reaching out to touch him, and he touched right back, giving hugs and shoulder squeezes, hands trailing, nails dragging across bare skin. He was a magnet, a light, and they were all moths drawn to him. Larry slid his seat back slightly as he approached and climbed onto the bar top. “Would anybody like some French tips tonight?” He teased, listening as the crowd went wild. His voice was surprisingly soft, gritty; an accent clung to it that Larry couldn’t place in that moment. He couldn’t help but smile, watching as this mysterious singer wove between the hanging lights before sliding down to his knees, which spread in a slow, seductive manner. A show, which got him plenty of cheers. He turned, slowly laying down on the counter.

Blue eyes. His eyes were blue, an almost unearthly shade. And they were locked on Larry’s brown, and wouldn’t budge, not for a good few moments before he reached down to the waistband of his pants. For a moment, Larry expected him to unzip them, to strip, but he didn’t- no, instead, he pulled free a rose and slowly held it up as he began to sing once more. “ _C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie. Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie!_ ” His voice grew loud, so loud, Larry could just barely hear a strain, but he could see the way his throat moved.

He could see bare traces of scars along the pale flesh.

The crowd cheered once more, someone screaming “yaaass”.

The mysterious singer reached all the way back, handing the rose to the redhead, who grinned and sniffed it. “ _Alors je sens en moi! La vie…_ ” The note wavered as he held it, long and loud and beautiful, so very beautiful. “En rose!” He finished as the crowd around them erupted into applause. Larry couldn’t see his face, but he knew. Knew that he was smiling beneath that prosthetic. 

The masked singer rose to a sitting position and gave thanks, while the redhead tapped on his shoulder. Larry turned, brow raised, as the rose the other had been holding was place into his hand.

* * *

Sal all but collapsed back stage, groaning as he undid the space buns and massaged a hand through his hair. “You sounded _amazing_ , Sally, baby!” One of the drag queens exclaimed as she leaned down, peppering his head in kisses. 

A laugh escaped him as he shook his head, ready to disagree, when Todd’s voice rang out. “Excuse me, excuse me, hello, hi ladies, _**VERY IMPORTANT MAN**_ here to see one Sally Face!” He called, making Sal turn in his chair in confusion. And there Todd was, with that man trailing behind him. A man that, as Sal looked closer, was indeed very important.

Larry Johnson, lead singer of Sanity’s Fall, a metal band that had been around for the last five years. 

Sal felt his stomach drop as he realized that he’d seen him preform. That he’d listened to him sing. This man- this man, whose albums he had in his bedroom. Was here. Had listened to him.

What the _hell_ was Todd doing?

“Sal, buddy, hi, listen, he wanted to meet the masked singer.” Todd explained quickly, obviously in the middle of an adrenaline rush much like he currently was. 

“I thought that might be you!” Sal exclaimed, smiling beneath the mask.

“What’d you say?” Larry asked, leaning down.

Sal’s brow rose, but he repeated himself. “I thought that might be you.”

Larry had the gall to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just, uh, wanted to… Meet you. Your voice is amazing.” He complimented, much to Sal’s surprise.

“I-uh, right. Thank you?” He managed to get out, trying to figure out if this was all some dream. A fever dream? That seemed likely. It had to be, right?

“You do that often?” Larry asked as the drag queens began picking their things up.

“Do what?”

“Sing- here.”

“Oh!” Sal rubbed the back of his neck, flushing beneath the prosthetic. “Yeah- I mean, normally, they wouldn’t let someone who isn’t in drag sing. But the girls here are so nice, and they love my voice, so…” Brows furrowing, he studied the singer. “Why did you come back here?”

Larry startled, head tilting to the side. “Well, your friend- he brought me back here…” He paused, before smiling. “Come have a drink with me.” He suddenly asked, making Sal jump once more. Eyes widening, he stared at the rock star for a solid minute before responding.

“Do what now?”

Larry laughed, a rich, deep sound that had Sal’s cheeks flushing. “I want you to come have a drink with me.” He repeated, shaking his head. “I wanna know more about you.”

“I- I don’t, I don’t drink?” Sal shook his head before gesturing to his hair. “And I have paint in my hair that I need to get out, and I’m sure you have other places to be-”

“That ain’t your real hair?”

“No! No, It’s paint. It’s part of the… Costume. Allure. Thing.” Eloquent, so very eloquent.

“I’m only gonna say this once!” A female voice broke through, loud and demanding. “I want y’all outta here in the next twenty minutes, ladies! This is a bar not your hotel!” Ashley hollered as she made her way through the dressing room, pausing beside Todd. “Marie Antoine’s orders.” The owner of this place.

A dear friend of the trio.

“I’ll wait.” Larry replied, smiling. 

Sal felt his heart flutter.

“… Alright. I’ll… Hurry.” Sal slipped from his seat and grabbed his bag, heading towards the bathroom.

* * *

Larry stood on the stage, idly pressing key after key on the piano. He hummed, chords coming to the forefront of his mind. Slowly, he began to play, his fingers stiff; piano wasn’t his best instrument. But he played as the workers cleaned the bar up. It was late, nearly four in the morning. 

Sal slipped out of the back rooms and paused, listening as Larry sang softly, a ballad version of one of his songs. Was it The Trail? He was fairly certain it was The Trail. Clearing his throat as he stepped into view, he suddenly felt small. His hair was no longer up in space buns, but hung free in damp strands around his face, falling just below his shoulders. An old Judas Priest shirt hung off of his form, and a pair of tattered red skinny jeans covered his legs. Solid black converse finished off the look.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They ended up at some old dive bar, filled with men that talked too loudly. The entire place smelled like sweat. But Larry was there, talking to him. And Sal couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Larry downed three shots in a row.

That’s a lot. 

“Your voice is amazing,” Larry complimented again, shaking his head in awe. “Like, You should be on the radio, amazing.”

“Me?” Sal shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him as he pushed his now-dry hair behind an ear. “Nah. No one would listen to- someone like me.”

“Y’know, I used to think the same thing, but now-”

Larry wasn’t able to finish his sentence due to a group of men coming up. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if we take a picture?” The man in front asked; blond, smiling. “You see, my girlfriend swears that her ex looks like you, but I don’t see it at all, so I was wondering if we could get a picture to prove it.”

Larry let out a laugh and nodded, “Sure, sure.”

But Sal frowned as he slid out of his stool. “You need someone to take the picture?” He asked, and the blond took one look at him before scowling. 

“Fuck off.”

“Ex-fuckin’-scuse me?” Sal snapped back, brows furrowing behind his mask. He wasn’t sure what happened next, but a shove was given, and then his hand was snapping out and the man was doubled over, gripping his nose in pain. 

Larry was laughing, and Sal was laughing, and Larry had picked him up and carried him out of the bar. They were still laughing when they got into Larry’s car- or, well, the car he was being driven around in. They laughed in the car, too, all the way to the little corner store. Larry led him inside, all smiles as he looked for the freeze section.

“Here, put this on your hand.” He didn’t wait for Sal to agree, instead simply grabbing his wrist and placing the bag of frozen peas along his knuckles gently. “Keeps the swellin’ down.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sal muttered, shaking his head as he followed Larry up to the check out. He set the peas onto the conveyer belt and went to grab his wallet, only to hear Larry speak up.

“I’ve got it.” He shook his head, already swiping his card. 

A flash went off.

“I… You’re…” The cashier spoke, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I just- you’re Larry Johnson.”

“It’s fine.” Larry flashed a tight smile, 

Sal grabbed the bag of frozen peas. “It’s really not.” He shot back, staring the woman down as Larry tugged him out of the store.

“You gonna fight her, too?”

“Maybe I should.”

“Sit down, hot shot.” Larry laughed, shaking his head as he sat down on the sidewalk beside Sal. The car sat a good ten feet away, Chug on the phone with his wife.

“So, where are you from?” Sal asked, brow raising as he looked over to the singer.

“Me? Arizona.” Larry replied, sounding almost sheepish.

It was cute.

“Arizona boy,” Sal teased, smiling.”

“Yeah- mom met dad out there. She worked for his parents on a- a pecan farm. He knocked her up. She was eighteen. He uh… He died. When I was a baby.” He shook his head, gaze falling upon Sal’s shoes. “Mom got remarried, and I got an older brother. We was raised together, y’know? He’s a good few years older than me, though… Mom passed from a heart attack when I was fourteen. So, if ya asked Neil, he’d say he pretty much raised me.

“I dunno who was raisin’ who, really. Just two kids, a hundred and twenty seven acres of nuts on top of nuts.”

Sal covered his hand with the frozen peas. His knuckles hurt- hell, his entire hand hurt. But he was still floating, still reeling from what had happened. He was sitting beside a damn Rockstar. He’d punched someone, almost fought a poor cashier. And he was sitting beside _Larry fucking Johnson_. This night was insane.

“This is insane.” He spoke into the quiet of the night, drawing Larry’s attention to him. 

“It is.” He agreed, smiling as he leaned his chin upon his hand. “Do you write your own songs?” He asked after a moment, watching as the blue haired beauty stilled.  
Sal tugged at the bottom hem of his shirt. “I can, but I don’t sing them.”

“Why?”

“Because someone like me wouldn’t make it in the industry.”

“Who says?”

A snort escaped Sal as he shook his head. “Almost every single person I’ve ever stood before. You know how that process goes. You go into a room, stand before a group of old white dudes, and they pick you apart. ‘Oh, you’ve got a good voice, but…’ ‘Your face…’ ‘Your hair….’ It’s bullshit!” He shook his head, scowling beneath the mask. “Utter and complete bullshit.”

“I think you’ve gotta wonderful voice.” Larry shrugged. “Fuck what they say. Your mask is part of who you are, yeah?”

“Prosthetic.”

“Prosthetic?”

“Mhm. It’s not a fashion statement, though I wish it was. I was in an accident when I was a kid- mauled by a dog. Same dog took my mom. You’ve seen Kujo?” He asked, gauging Larry’s reaction to what he’d revealed so far. His face was blank, gaze intent. Listening to every single word he’d said. “That kind of dog, that kind of situation- minus the whole ‘stuck in a car with no AC and dying from dehydration’ thing.”

“Shit, dude.” Larry shook his head, brows pinched in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

Sal shrugged, and in a moment of bravery, reached up, unclipping the buckles that kept the mask in place. “’s life, you know?” He asked, holding the mask in place as he drew in a slow, calming breath, before slowly lowering it. “Who’d wanna sign someone who looks like _this_?” He asked as he brushed his bangs away from his face.

Larry didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He just… Looked. “I dunno what you’re talking about,” he spoke finally, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind Sal’s ear. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Sal’s eye widened, surprise dancing across his features. “I… You’re blind, then.” He tried to joke, shaking his head, though his hands were shaking in anxiety.

A hand reached out, wrapping around one of Sal’s. “I’m serious.” Larry murmured, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

A silence spread between them, not uncomfortable; letting the night spread between them, around them. Sal looked up, studying the night sky; no stars could be seen in the city, but he knew they were there. He drew in a breath before opening his mouth, beginning to sing softly. 

Larry found himself stilling, listening to the soft voice; a slight vibrato, a roughness to certain words. The song as beautiful, about diving into the unknown, about love, about life. Filling voids and being unhappy, wanting change. It spoke to him.   
He found himself utterly enthralled. 

“Can I tell ya somethin’?” Larry asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

He leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. “I think ya might be a songwriter.” Sal made a surprised noise, but he was smiling. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone… But I’m horrible at keeping secrets.”

Sal snorted, shaking his head, but watched as Larry took hold of his hand, removing the peas. Slowly, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “A real gentleman…” He teased, watching as Larry grinned. “I think.”

* * *

The dawn broke with a stop to Starbucks. Sal’s coffee was more sugar than anything, a caramel frappe with one two pumps vanilla, whip crème, and caramel drizzle. Larry’s was black, with two cremes. Both men were still, somehow, wired; surviving on adrenaline alone. Sal talked about his childhood in Jersey before moving to Nashville with his father. Larry talked about life on the road, his bandmates, the different places he’d seen. Tokyo had been his favorite aesthetics wise, but New Orleans was his favorite food wise. 

“It’s right here,” Sal leaned forward, gesturing to his house. Three black SUVs were parked in front. Dread filled him.

“What’s all this?” Larry asked, brows raising. Was Sal part of some hidden crime family? Or maybe his dad was famous? 

“My dad.” Sal muttered, shaking his head. “Thanks for the ride. And for last night.” His hand reached for the handle, only to pause when Larry reached around him, holding the door. Brows raising, he turned to study the singer, an unspoken question filling the air.

“Come on tour with me.” Larry suddenly asked, making Sal jump. “I got a gig tonight.”

“We’re heading to the airport now, sir.” Chug cut in.

“I can’t, Larry.” Sal shook his head, voice soft and full of remorse. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Larry pouted, brows furrowing. “Just one show. That’s all.”

Sal shook his head, opening the door and sliding out. “I _can’t_ , Larry. I have… I have a job. A life here. I can’t just up and leave- you know that.” 

“One show, that’s all. Besides, who’s gonna take care of your hand?”

“Me.” 

“Yeah, right.”

“Goodbye, Larry. You have my number.” Sal closed the door, and turned, making his way up to the front steps, only to turn when Larry rolled the window down.

“Aren’t you tired of this modern world?” He asked, smiling. Sal let out a laugh and shook his head, heading on up the steps.

Larry sighed, settling back against the seats, rolling the window up. He closed his eyes, wincing at the ringing in his ears.

“-ss? Boss, we gotta go.” Chug was speaking. Larry cracked open his eyes and nodded, and the car pulled way from the curb. “Big show tonight.”

“Yeah…” Larry wiped a hand over his face and groaned. “I need’a shower.”

* * *

Sal opened the door and stepped into the house, grimacing at the smell. Cigarettes and alcohol. Scowling behind his prosthetic, he made his way through the house, grumbling to himself. “Dad, come on, you can’t just…” Groaning, he gathered the empty beer bottles while Henry popped in.

“There you are!” He grinned, walking over to him. “Come on, you gotta tell Terrance happy birthday.”

“Dad, I told you not to smoke in the house!” Sal shook his head, staring at the mess in the kitchen. “And- Terrance? It’s his birthday?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Henry all but shoved him into the dining room, where Terrance stood.   
Sal walked over and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, Ter.” He managed to get out, attempting to hold in the rage that was boiling beneath the surface.

“Birthday?” Terrance echoed, brows raising. “It isn’t my birthday.”

“But dad said…” Realizing what was happening. Sal turned around quickly, attempting to escape. Henry reached out to grab him, but Sal slipped free of his grasp. “Go sober up, dad! You’ve all got work to get to!” He called as he slid back into the kitchen, making a face at the mess. He began to clean up the ash trays, dumping the ash into the trash can. “I told you not to do this.”

“Sal, we had to celebrate. The stocks went up for our work, and…”

“And what? You come home and smoke in the house and drink until your liver gives out?!” Sal exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “You can’t keep doing this, dad!” He exclaimed, watching as Henry’s shoulders slumped. Before he got the chance to make an excuse, Sal turned. “I’m goin’ to shower and sleep before I have to be at work.”

He left Henry standing in the kitchen, tie undone, half dressed.

This happened often, too often really. But Sal had grown used to it, even though it still pissed him off. Coming home from a night shift or out with friends, only to find the house a mess and his father in the midst of sobering up for work. It was annoying. But he did still love his father- even with his vices. 

Sighing, he dragged a hand through his hair and all but collapsed onto his bed, barely managing to kick off his shoes and shimmy out of his jeans before sleep was tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He’d shower after he’d slept some. Reaching out, he took hold of his phone, plugged its charger in, and set an alarm. Four hours of sleep was better than nothing, right? It was only eight thirty. He’d have time to get up, eat, shower, and get ready for work.

But first, a nap.


	2. Part II: The First Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal gets fed up, and takes Larry up on his offer- for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II is here!  
> The next part will most likely be the longest part? And it will also most likely be the second most painful.   
> There's no real warnings to give in here aside from minor smut.

_“Is there somethin’ else you’re searchin’ for?”_

* * *

Larry sat in the back room of the arena, head phones on. A loud ringing was switching side to side. He rubbed his forehead before holding up his left hand. The pitch changed, louder, higher in his right ear. He quickly jerked his hand up, wincing at the sound. He pulled the headphones off, looking up at the doctor.

“Unfortunately, your hearing’s gonna keep getting worse the more you blast it.” He explained, lips pursed. “It’s not gonna bring it back. I think it’s time we consider the inner monitors.”

Larry nodded slowly, gaze falling on Travis, who sat behind the doctor in a lounge chair, clutching a bottle of water. “Right, yeah.”

“We talked about that with Neil a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah-”

“We put the implants in and we can control them- we can amplify them for the higher frequencies.”

Larry felt the panic rise in him, but he forced it down. “Yeah, that uh, that sounds great.”

“We’re gonna talk to Neil-”

“Sold.”

“Get you set up.”

“I’m sold.” Larry rose to his feet, a smile curling his lips. “Call Neil.”

* * *

“That little son of a bitch.” Neil muttered as he left the sound booth, the hot Nashville sun glaring down on him. Larry stood on stage, doing sound check. Behind him, his band was still setting up. Larry strummed his guitar, starting to sing.

Neil shook his head as he walked down the aisle, hearing aids gripped in his hand. He raised them, watching as Larry faltered. “You gotta put ‘em in, man,” Neil spoke up as he neared the stage. Larry sauntered to the edge, eyes narrowing as he took in the hearing aids, the disapproving look on his step brother’s face.

“I done told you I can’t wear those things,” Larry replied, shaking his head. “When I wear them, it’s all in my head, and I can’t be like that up here. I gotta be with them,” he explained, gesturing towards the arena. 

“Doc said it’s the only way you’re gonna manage this thing, Larry.” Neil shook his head, looking up at the singer. “You’re not gonna get back what you lost.”

Larry rolled his eyes and pushed his guitar to his side. “Oh, fuck off,” he muttered, annoyance filling him. “I think we’re managin’ pretty good.” He turned away from Neil, walking back towards the drums.

“Whattya wanna do, Larry?” Neil asked, voice raising. 

“They’re arguing again,” Travis murmured to the stage manager, who shook his head.

Larry paused in his steps, scratching at his neck before he turned on his heel and marched back to the mic. He spoke into it, loud and clear: “You know, the door’s wide open if you wanna-”

“Don’t start that shit.” Neil cut in, lip curling in disgust. “Show a little _fuckin’_ pride in what you’re doin’, buddy.”

Larry turned away, looking around the stage. “I just wanna know if he’s comin’ or not.” He ignored Neil.

“Who’s comin’?” Neil asked, receiving no answer from Larry. “What the fuck.”

* * *

“Sal? Sally, hon, there’s some guy here for you.” Henry’s voice woke him from his nap. Blinking blearily, he sat up ran a hand over his face.

“A guy?” He asked, letting the words sink in as he grabbed a pair of basketball shorts, tugging them on, followed by an oversized Nirvana t-shirt. His hair was quickly pulled into a sloppy bun as he rose to his feet.

“Yeah,” Henry replied, dressed in a suit- did Sal over sleep?- and sobered up. “He won’t tell me anything.”

Confusion danced within his voice as he made his way down the stairs to the front door. He stood on his toes, peeking out.

Green hair met his vision.

“Oh, shit. Fuck. No. No, no, no.”

Sliding the mask over his face, he threw the door open. “Go away.” He stated, hearing the alarmed squawk come from his father. He chose to ignore that. “I told him to just text me. I’m not going to the concert.”

“I have orders to not leave without you.” Chug replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Larry’s waiting.”

“Waiting where?”

“At the venue.”

“I… What?”

“I can’t leave,” Chug shrugged. “So, I’ll be in my car, right down the street.”

“Tell him thank you, but no thank you- exactly those words.” Sal closed the door, even as Henry began stuttering and stumbling over his words. “What the fuck was that.”

“Larry? As in, Larry Johnson?” He asked, looking back to the door, then to Sal’s back. “You met him? He knows you?”

“We had a drink, that’s all. I need to get ready for work.”

“Sal!”

“What?”

Henry gripped his son’s shoulder, shaking his head. “This is your _chance_! Your big break that you’ve been waiting for!” He exclaimed, brows furrowing. “This is what you’ve wanted to do for so long-”

“I’ve gotta get ready for work, dad.” Sal interrupted, sliding out of Henry’s grip. 

“Look- it was just a random encounter at a bar. That’s all. He’s… No.”

“Sal-”

“Don’t start with me dad. Don’t start!” Sal shook his head as he grabbed a bottle of water. 

“Did he hear you sing? Does he know that you sing?” Henry asked, following after his son.

“I don’t have the same disease as you dad, so drop it!”

“Whattya mean?”

“Celebrity sickness! ‘Oh, you know who I drove the other day?’ actin’ like you’re famous!” Sal yelled, storming up the steps to his bedroom.

“Why are you talkin’ about that?” Henry asked, confusion filtering through his words, mixing with hidden hurt. 

Sal peeked out of the window, scowling as he saw that Chug was, indeed, waiting. “You think it’s magic and it isn’t magic, dad. He’s drunk!” He yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “He’s a drunk! And you should know all about drunks!” He slammed his bedroom door, leaving Henry in the hall.

“Sal…” Henry whispered, brows furrowing. Oh, how he had messed up when Sal was younger. Slowly, he trailed back down the stairs, peeking out of the window. “Honey?” He called up the stairs. “He’s… He’s not leaving.”

* * *

“Wait, you _hit_ a _cop_?” Todd asked, eyes wide in alarm as he walked alongside Sal, who was tucking his shirt into his pants.

“Well, yeah,” Sal shrugged, pausing halfway up the steps. “He was being a dick, he was out of uniform, and was drunk. So I punched him in the nose.”

Todd shook his head slowly, eyes wide, red curls bouncing. “That’s _insane_ , Sally.”

“And then we ended up in a parking lot and he put peas around my hand and then he was singin’ and I was singin’ and I don’t know what the hell was goin’ on, but now he’s got his driver following me around.” Sal rambled, shaking his head as they entered the kitchen. 

“Wait, so he has his _driver_ following you around all day?” Todd sounded mildly alarmed.

“Yes!” Sal threw his hands up. “It’s crazy!”

“You’re fuckin’ late again.” Charley spoke as he walked past.

Sal spun on his heels, eyes wide. “I’m _what_?!” He screeched, staring hard at Charley’s back. Todd gripped his sleeve, suddenly aware that a fight could very well occur. 

“I said you’re late.” Charley repeated, disappearing around the corner and into his office.

Something snapped in Sal, then, as he stood there. His shoulders tensed before relaxing, his jaw clenching. Todd watched in awe as Sal marched forward, tugging off his waiter’s jacket. “Are we doin’ this?” He asked softly, a smile growing.

Sal just gave a small, single nod before looping his arm through Todd’s. The pair took off, laughing. “Hey, Charley- I’m out. Find someone else.” He called as he tossed his jacket onto the floor.

“I’ll be back, I promise!” Todd yelled as they ducked down the stairs. 

Sal all but ran down the alley, laughter filling him. A sense of freedom. “Alright, we’re doing this!” Chug cheered as he opened the door for the pair to climb in. 

“Did you _see_ Charley’s face?” Todd asked as they settled into the SUV.

“You know,” Sal began, leaning forward to rest his chin on the back of Chug’s seat, “If I didn’t know Larry, I’d say you were a stalker.”

That got a laugh out of Chug as he pulled away, out of the alley and onto the street. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”

* * *

“Holy shit.” Ashley yelled as she took in the sight of the private jet. They’d picked her up on the way, Sal having called her and told her to pack some clothes.

Todd let out a surprised noise as Sal got out. Ashley cheered, grabbing hold of Sal, the pair spinning as laughter filled the air. Shaking his head, Todd snapped a selfie of himself, Sal, and Ashley in front of the plane.

“Memories!” Ashley cheered, grinning. 

“Lay on that couch _right now_!” Sal exclaimed as Ashley let out a peel of giggles, collapsing onto the couch. Sal settled into a plush chair.

“I’m takin’ my shoes off,” Todd muttered.

“This is _insane_ \- oh, shit, that works?” Sal asked, touching the touch screen mini TV, watching as it came to life.

“Oh, oh- sorry, sorry.” Ashley set the bottle of champagne down, only for it to explode. She let out a scream of surprise, causing Sal and Todd to both fall into a fit of laughter. “I’m so sorry!” She yelled, a hand over her mouth.

“I could get _used_ to this shit,” Todd murmured as he lounged, peeking out of the window.

Sal sat at a table, staring at the small bouquet of white roses. His heart was beating rapidly, his mind spinning. He was in a private jet. He was being flown out to see _Larry Johnson_ in concert. This had to be a dream, right?

“You need to date more rock stars,” Ashley agreed with a nod.

His cheeks heated up. “We’re _not dating_.” He hissed, shaking his head.

* * *

The venue was already alive, Sal noted as they pulled up around he back. People were standing outside, waiting- for them. For him. He ran a hand through his hair, glad that the plane had had a small shower for him to freshen up in. And for Ashley, who had brought him a change of clothes. An old KISS shirt whose sleeves were ripped, the sides dipping low to show his ribs, and a pair of red ripped skinny jeans. 

“Sal? Hi! I’m Maple!” The woman greeted; she was pretty, silver hair shaved on one side, black lipstick.

“Hey, I have my bags-”

“We’ll bring them to the hotel. Larry’s waiting.”

“Wh- already?” Sal’s eyes widened behind the mask before he jumped out of the SUV, Todd and Ashley following behind. 

The sound of guitars greeted them suddenly, music starting up, Hyping the crowd up. Sal grew giddy, grinning. “Passes,” Maple held out the three backstage passes for them to take. “Put ‘em around your neck.” She instructed. “And earplugs.”

Ashley was grinning from ear to ear, Sal noted, clinging to Todd’s arm. They were led through the labyrinth of the backstage area before the music grew clearer, Larry’s voice, louder.

“Treehouse?” Ashley asked over the music. Sal nodded, smiling. He knew that guitar rift from anywhere. They were led out into the crowd, along the edge of the stage beside the pit. And then- there he was, on stage. His tank was dark with sweat, his hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Travis, his drummer, was practically bouncing in his seat, a grin spread across his lips, his hair plastered to his forehead.   
Alive. They were so very alive. Larry didn’t see them, not yet- he was in the middle of playing the ending of Treehouse, the guitars loud and grinding. 

“He’s so excited that you’re here!” Maple called over the music as they entered stage left. There were other people- people with VIP passes, friends, family of the bands. 

Sal stood and watched, awestruck. The crowd was screaming the lyrics back to Larry without him having to even sing them. It was insane. It was beautiful. Larry was beautiful as he sank to his knees, falling back, back, back onto the stage as he played the final chord.

Maple made her way over to Neil, leaning close. “They’re here!” She shouted, and he nodded, a smile crossing his features.

Larry sat up, looking over- and grinned. Sal’s breath was stolen in that moment as he took in that grin. Todd waved from behind, Ashley jumping up and down, but Sal was still. Breathless. Grinning. 

He rose to his feet and handed his guitar off, jogging towards them. “You made it!” He yelled, grinning as he pulled Sal into a tight embrace before cupping the sides of his face. “I’m so happy you’re here, Sally!”

“Yeah, this is- wow. Insane!” Sal replied, reaching up to grip Larry’s wrists. 

“Everything’s alright?” Larry asked, his voice hoarse, words slightly slurred. “The trip was fine? Hotel rooms booked, right?”

“Yeah- yeah, everything’s fine!” Carefully, Sal lowered Larry’s hands from his face. 

“So, listen,” Larry began. A ball of lead formed in Sal’s stomach. “We’re gonna sing that song, alright? I did an arrangement- it ain’t the best, but it’s good.” 

“We’re doing what now?” Sal replied, shaking his head. “No- no, I can’t…” He was going to be sick. He needed a trash can. He was going to puke. He couldn’t get on stage! There was no way in _hell_ he could get on that stage! Sal backed up, only to have Todd and Ashley place their hands on his back, preventing him from escape.

“Yes, we are.” Larry grinned, pulling Sal in, his lips brushing against his ear. “All you gotta do is trust me.” He began to back up, grinning. “One way or another, I’m still gonna sing it.” He threw his arms open, grinning; the lights from the stage were perfect in that moment, red and white backlight. It covered him in a hellish, heaven-like glow. 

An angel and a devil wrapped into one.

Travis played a triplet before starting a quick roll, the bass drum kicking hard, reverberating in his chest. Larry approached the mic, retrieving his guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. He turned, looking at Sal.

“I can’t go out there.”

“Yes, you can.” Todd gave him a small nudge.

“Yes, you are.” Ashley added, giving him a harder push.

Sal stumbled, turned, and gave a vulgar gesture to the pair before turning back to watch Larry.

The slow strum of an electric guitar began, the crowd falling quiet. A ballad. He’d made the song into a ballad, Sal realized. No drums, nothing but his voice and his guitar right now. Larry flashed a smile as he began to sing- an opposite of Sal’s verse, one of sorrow, of being held down, chained down, unable to leave or to see the light. 

His voice was beautiful. Angelic. A soft growl hinted at the edges, rough from years of screaming. 

Sal pressed his hands to his mask, shaking his head. Drew in a breath. Lowered his hands. He took a look around, heard Ashley whisper “go”, and nodded. Took a slow step forward. And then another, until he was walking onto stage to the second mic.

Larry was grinning at him.

Sal smiled beneath the prosthetic as he began to sing- of change, of wanting to be released. Of filling voids. He kept his gaze on Larry, watching as he stepped back from the mic with a grin and spoke softly to his bassist. “In all the good times, I find myself longing for change,” Sal sang, voice trembling. Larry was grinning.

His voice rose as the chorus kicked in, a bass line following. Sal pressed his hands to his mask, covering the eye holes as he fell into his falsetto. Larry’s fingers flew across the neck of his guitar as he walked closer, pulling Sal away from his mic. Nodding to Larry’s own mic.

Larry’s mic.

The drums kicked in, building slow, steady, _strong_. Heart skipping far too many beats, Sal walked over and took hold of the mic, tugging it down to his lips. He shook his head before letting out a solid note, rising, cresting, surging from tenor, up to alto. 

Larry leaned in, joining him for the second chorus. Their voices blended so well, spilling into the arena, the guitars fully coming to life as they finished off their song. And the audience- they were screaming. Going wild. Sal grinned behind the mask, took a step back so they wouldn’t hear his laughter. “You did fuckin’ good, baby blue!” Larry murmured in his ear.

“There’s so many people!” Sal exclaimed, covering his mask with his hands. 

“So fuckin’ good!”

* * *

They were leaving, the crowd in the back thick, phones and cameras flashing.   
“I was worried I put it in the wrong key, or maybe it was the wrong tempo?” Larry admitted as they walked, his arm thrown over his shoulders. 

“No- no, it was perfect!” Sal replied, still breathless, delighted. 

That is, until he was suddenly pulled from Larry’s arm.

Sal balked, panic filling his veins. “Larry? Larry!” He yelled as people swarmed, blocking his vision. “Move!” He all but growled to the girl who was trying to shove him back.

A tattooed arm reached out, grabbing Sal’s arm, and _pulled_. Sal broke free, stumbling into Larry’s chest. “I got ya, babe. I got ya.” He whispered, pushing Sal in front of him rather than behind.

_“Is that the guy Larry’s seeing?”_

_“Guy? I thought that was a girl!”_

They approached the tour bus where a man stood, wearing a big grin. He reached out, clapping Larry’s shoulder. “You played a good show, Larry.”

Larry paused, starstruck for a moment. “Really?” He asked, sounding a little breathless. Sal looked between the two, curiosity filling him. But he didn’t get the chance to ask, for he was being led onto the bus. 

Which was _packed_. Beyond packed. So many people, cheering. Drinks were poured, offered- all of which Sal declined, but Larry took, gladly. 

The hotel was five-star, better than anything Sal had ever stayed in. They were on the top floor, the elevator ride full of giddy laughter and excitement. 

“Key, key, key…” Larry muttered, patting himself down. A cheer escaped him as he found the key to their room, pulling it free from his back pocket. He held it up, grinning over at Sal before opening their room. They stumbled in with soft laughs, the door closing by itself behind them.

Larry turned and looked down at Sal, searching. Carefully, gently, he reached out, undoing the buckles that kept Sal’s mask in place. Sal took hold of the prosthetic before it could fall, setting it on the table. Gentle fingers traced along the largest scar he had, stretching from his right temple to the left side of his chin, arcing down across his cheek bone, just barely missing his lips. 

Slowly, Larry leaned down, brushing his lips against Sal’s once, twice, three times before Sal gripped his shirt and tugged him in, sealing their lips together in a solid kiss. Teeth clacked together, but it was _perfect_. Larry’s hand was in his hair, tugging lightly, and his other hand was cupping his face, tilting it up just so as Larry leaned over him. 

Their lips parted for a mere second before meeting again, and again, and again until Sal was absolutely breathless. He pulled back from Larry with a breathless laugh, a hand on his chest. “Hang on, I’ll… I’ll be back in a minute.” He explained, shaking his head as he grabbed his bag and backtracked to the bathroom. “Is this- where’s the bathroom? Is this it? Where’s the fucking- oh.” He whispered to himself, slipping and closing the door. He looked around, momentarily stunned by the black tile and shower-, by God, that shower. He couldn’t wait to take one. 

But first, Larry. Larry, and the hard-on he had pressing against his own jeans. He ran the water before taking in his reflection. Hair, a mess. Face, flushed beneath the scars. His pupil was _blown_. Wow. He grabbed hold of a wash cloth and wet it down before giving himself a very quick, very rough towel bath, wiping his arm pits and reaching down, slipping a hand down his pants (and resisting the urge top palm himself, just barely), making sure he didn’t end up with swamp ass. 

That would kill the mood, really. 

Pleased with his small cleansing, he opened the bathroom with a soft laugh and made his way down the hallway. He paused, taking in the sight of the dinner table- a _fucking dinner table_ \- before turning the corner. Larry was there on the couch.

Sound asleep. 

“Larry?” Sal spoke softly, brows furrowed. “Larry?”

* * *

“What do you want me to do?” Ashley asked, robe clutched tight to herself as she leaned out of the door. Sal could hear voices- _voices_ \- from inside the bedroom. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know what to do.” Sal replied, shaking his head. “He’s passed out, Ash.”

“I don’t know- shake your ass or suck his dick or something! Take two shots and just go for it!” Ashley shrugged, brow raising.

Sal scowled and shook his head, “Thanks a lot, you’re so much help.” He made his way back to the bedroom, glad that he had grabbed his mask and slid it on, even if it was just buckled with the first strap.

“Tell me how it goes!” Ashley called after him. 

He slipped back into the room, listening to the sounds of movement. Walking past the hallway, he turned towards the bedroom, watching as Neil situated Larry on the bed. “C’mon, Lar,” Neil murmured, pulling him up, fixing his legs. 

Larry was completely wiped out. Drunk. Dead to the world. 

Sal’s brows furrowed as he watched Neil turn to him. “He’s out,” Neil said with a shake of his head. “Y’think he drinks a bit much?” He asked, an unamused smirk curling his lips. “You have no idea, but I’ll tell you one thing.” He moved past Sal and into the dining area. Sal followed after, arms hugging himself. “He’s never brought a guy on stage before.”

His heart stuttered. He felt his lips curl into a small, embarrassed smile. 

“And it’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve seen him play like he did tonight.”

“That’s good to know.”

Sal sat on the little bench in front of the bed, hands clasped in front of him, boner long since having been dealt with. It was almost three in the morning. His eye hurt. Dragging a hand through his hair, he stood slowly and stretched, back popping a few times. Sleep. He needed sleep. He unzipped his pants and peeled them off before pulling his shirt off as well, leaving him in his boxer-briefs as he crawled beneath the covers beside Larry.

The next time he woke, it was to soft kisses on his skin, trailing along his shoulder and down his arm. He blinked, gaze focusing on the pale red curtains, the hint of sun peeking out from behind. “Mornin’,” Larry murmured against his bicep.

“Mornin’,” Sal replied, smiling as Larry claimed his lips in a sweet kiss, nothing like the night before’s. No, this was soft, lingering, no rush. Sal reached out, tugging Larry’s shirt up and over his head before he shifted, pushing the brunette back onto his back. He threw a leg over his hips and sat up, smiling down at him. 

Larry felt his breath leave him at the sight of the angel straddling him.

* * *

“So, like, I’m standin’ there, obviously ready to shit my pants because Marilyn fuckin’ Manson is coming at me like I just murdered his pet.” Larry was trying not to laugh at his own story.

Sal, on the other hand, was close to dying from laughter. “What did you do?!”

“Nothing!” He exclaimed, shaking his head. “He wanted to congratulate me on my success! But shit, man, he’s terrifying in person.” 

“I can only imagine.”

“Oh, man- and last summer, when I was in Japan? I met one of their big J-Rock bands, The GazettE?” Larry shook his head, eyes wide. “Now those are some beautiful men, let me tell you.”

Sal couldn’t help but grin as he leaned his head on his hand and listened to Larry talk about his encounters, his gaze falling to his chest. The scratches were already fading, but Sal could still see them. And the bruises he’d sucked into his chest and collar bones. 

A warm feeling swept over him, then. This was nice. Domestic, even.

Oh, shit.

_Oh, shit._


End file.
